


I Was Never There

by Dr_Snakes_MD



Series: Cooper Vault [2]
Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sequel of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Snakes_MD/pseuds/Dr_Snakes_MD
Summary: Restlessness and unanswered questions plague Carmelita in the wake of Clock-La's near rampage.
Relationships: Sly Cooper/Carmelita Fox
Series: Cooper Vault [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708762
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	I Was Never There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brightest_Moonstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/gifts).



Carmelita signed the final page of her report with rather less flourish than she had started with. In the month since Paris had narrowly avoided being turned into a vicious, hate-filled hellscape, she’d thrown herself back into Interpol. The agency was in a hitherto unseen crisis – losing a high ranking wardeness to corruption was bad enough without even mentioning everything _she_ had done – and needed all hands on deck.

It had felt good to hit the ground running, getting back into the swing of investigating with a fervor not unlike the one she had right after her promotion to Inspector. Three arrests had been made: local, small time arms dealers who thought it was a good time to capitalize on the chaos, and she finally felt like herself again. It was something Carmelita promised herself she would never again take for granted.

One month removed, however, meant things were slowing down. Slowing down meant more time to think – with fewer excuses to avoid her agency mandated psychology appointments. And more time to think meant…well…

Carmelita slammed shut the file folder and shoved it away from her. “ _Focus,_ ‘lita,” she told herself. Paperwork had always been the bane of her existence, as it was for every Inspector, but she was normally able to complete it with the same dogged professionalism that she did everything else.

Spinning, the fox turned her gaze out the window of her new office – a makeup gift from Brantley – and over Paris’ skyline. Twilight had fallen, and with it, she knew, Paris would come alive. She thought of her friends, always cajoling her out, and knew they’d be gearing up to hit the town soon. She also thought of _him_ , and wondered if he’d be out on the town too.

Carmelita’s fingers twitched, reaching in the direction of her pistol, discarded on a nearby table. She had a list of likely targets the length of her arm – haunts with ownership not quite shady enough to launch an investigation, but questionable nonetheless: Cooper’s bread and butter.

“Not tonight,” she murmured. It was the same thing she’d told herself every night since he’d leapt out of Interpol’s helicopter. _What’s wrong with me?_ she wondered, not for the first time. “Maybe I _should_ see that therapist…” she mused.

And if that wasn’t an indication that she was seriously messed up, Carmelita didn’t know what was.

For as long as she could remember, police work had been the cornerstone of her identity. Not law enforcement, _police work_ ; helping people. Both of her parents had been local to her small town in Spain; Carmelita had had bigger aspirations. Interpol had been worth the struggle since her first internship. Had she changed so much so as to render the first twenty-two and a half years of her life irrelevant?

But, then, _she_ hadn’t changed overmuch. _You just had your eyes opened_ , Carmelita thought, grimacing.

What kind of wardeness experimented on their prisoners?

What kind of constable abandoned all concept of principle for personal gain?

What kind of criminal put their life on the line for a cop?

She spun away from Paris’ skyline with a huff, took one look at the medal Interpol had presented her with for ‘saving’ the city, and rose. Striding to the door, Carmelita noticed, per usual, the office was empty. Which meant there was no one around to bother her as she stormed her way through it.

Logically, she’d always known the world wasn’t as black and white as she’d like it to be. Plenty of small time criminals’ choices were more a product of necessity and circumstance than any real moral failings. And the number of crooked, corrupt cops she ran into while investigating would have been enough to beat any idealist into cynical submission.

Yet, she’d persisted. Climbed into Interpol and clawed her way to being the youngest Inspector in history, all with the morals that small towns and a law enforcement pedigree engendered mostly intact.

Interpol was supposed to be different – the best of the best. And while she was as bogged down in bureaucracy and organizational politics as ever, on the whole, Interpol _was_ different.

 _Until India_ … _and Prague, and Canada._

Carmelita’s feet carried her down three flights of stairs and into the basement as she mused. Her key card clicked and the heavy, steel door that led to the Records Department opened before her. The vixen flicked the lights on and had to slam her eyes shut against the harsh florescent with a muttered curse. She flicked the switch down and scrambled for the auxiliary lights.

Blinking her eyes open to a softer, orange-ish glow, she continued. Her path was well-worn in recent weeks – seven rows deep, make a left, take four steps. A blank space where previously a thick, black binder had resided greeted the fox.

 _Where is it?_ she wondered, mildly alarmed. Only Interpol operatives could check out file folders, and rarely overnight. It hadn’t been checked out since she’d finalized it.

“Looking for something, Inspector?”

Carmelita whirled, hand dropping to her hip on reflex only to find her shock pistol absent from its usual place. Cursing to herself, she dropped into a crouch, ready to move in any direction at the slightest threat.

Her brown eyes met Cooper’s as he lounged lazily on the shelf behind her, the room’s shadows wrapping around him like a cloak. In his hand was Neyla’s file.

“Cooper,” she breathed.

“Lovely to see you as always, Carmelita,” he returned easily, though his usual smirk was absent.

Shock was worked through quickly – this wasn’t the first time he’d broken into Interpol – replaced by the familiar affront at damn near everything about him. “You have some _nerve_ showing up here.”

“Maybe I missed you?”

The vixen tamped down the minor surge of annoyance at the raccoon’s familiar rhetoric, opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Her eyes narrowed as they surveyed Cooper. He lounged, yes, but his ever present confidence was missing. His words, never failing to infuriate her, lacked feeling.

He looked haggard, or as close to haggard as Sly Cooper was capable of. His fur, which usually shone brightly in defiance of his chosen profession, was dull. Eyes hooded, he stared down at her, not with his usual combination of delight and defiance, but with a resigned fatigue.

 _It’s not as bad as he was in Canada,_ she told herself, remembering how truly _exhausted_ he’d looked. But that it was a comparison at all spoke volumes. A thread of concern coursed through her that she failed to banish.

Summoning her best skeptical expression, Carmelita cocked a hip and an eyebrow. “And you just knew I’d be coming down here tonight, I assume,” she said rhetorically. Obsessed with her Cooper might be, but he wasn’t a stalker. “Why are you here, Cooper?”

The raccoon stared at her for a moment longer than it usually took him to come up with a witty response. The smirk fell from his face, leaving a serious mien that she expected was far more genuine than what she was used to.

“Had a few questions I wanted answered,” he said at length, voice casual. But Carmelita had always been able to read him.

She glanced from his eyes down to the dossier he held loosely. She remembered all too well her conversation with Neyla in Prauge; remembered the sadistic glee the tigress oozed at the mere mention of Cooper’s name. Remembered Sly’s rage as he attacked with a ferocity she’d only ever seen directed at his parents’ murderer, both in Canada and above Paris. 

_“Nothing he wasn’t begging for by the end.”_

“Find what you were looking for, then?” she asked him. Deliberately relaxing her stance, she softened her expression as she looked up at him. _Don’t scare him off_ , she told herself, knowing that her chance to arrest him here and now was so low as to be functionally nonexistent.

But then, that wasn’t why she was trying to keep him from bolting into the night.

Cooper snorted. “Not quite.” He tossed Neyla’s dossier to her with a flick of his wrist. Carmelita caught it without taking her eyes off of him. “You wrote it?”

“I did. Why do you care?” Carmelita withheld a wince at the harsh tone she’d taken on reflex. Cooper didn’t seem to notice.

“Because that file is the most information anyone in the world has on her.” He sighed. “I’ve been from London to New Delhi twice over and no one can tell me anything. It’s like she was never even there.”

For a moment, he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. Carmelita felt her heart go out to him in spite of herself. “What are you trying to find, Sly?” she asked softly.

If he noticed her using his first name, he didn’t show it. “Answers. Closure. _Something_ to explain why she…” Cooper trailed off, looking into the shadows.

Carmelita placed the file back where it belonged, then leapt to the top of the rolling bookcase opposite Cooper. She sat, leaned forward with her arms resting on her knees, facing him plainly.

“She’s gone, Cooper. We ended her and whatever other plans she had. There’s no use dwelling on it now.” _She can’t hurt you anymore_ , the vixen wanted to say.

“Then what are you doing down here, Inspector?” he asked, a hint of his humor in his eyes, dark as it was.

Carmelita leaned back on her haunches, grimacing. _Well played, Ringtail._ “Maybe I’m trying to make sense of it all.”

“Hmm, how’s that going?” Cooper asked, a semblance of life in his voice for the first time. She looked at him, deadpan. He chuckled lightly. “Don’t often hang out in ‘Records’ I guess.”

“And you do?”

“That would be telling.”

The vixen caught a smile before it could form on her face, making a note to speak with building security. She sobered a moment later. _What are you_ doing _?_ she yelled at herself. Here she was, casual as could be, not simply having a conversation with a wanted criminal but feeling gratified to coax a smile out of him.

Shoving the dissonance to the side for the moment, Carmelita refocused. “She came to talk to me once in Prague,” she began. A quick glance confirmed she had Cooper’s undivided attention. “To gloat, really. She didn’t give me much, but I think she was the type to do things just because she could.”

“So she was a sociopath.” Carmelita shrugged, letting his limited definition of the word slide. He shook his head. “That’s not it. Not all of it. There’s always a reason. There _has_ to be,” he muttered.

_“Which is too bad, really, because he’s quite a bit of fun when you get him going.”_

_Carmelita spat, “And you’d know.”_

_Her stomach turned to lead as Neyla’s grin turned smug. “I_ would _, as a matter of fact…”_

“Sly…” Cooper met her eyes. “What did she do to you?”

His eyes narrowed as he inhaled, averting his gaze slightly. “I trusted her. She _made_ me trust her. And then, well…” he shrugged artlessly. “You know the rest.”

A growl was lodged in the back of her throat, seeing him like this. All because of one _bitch_ of a tigress. She swallowed it down and it was immediately replaced by the anguish she’d felt in Prague.

“Did she…?” she asked haltingly, knowing he’d understand. _Why do you care so damn much, ‘lita?_

Sly just nodded once. Carmelita felt her heart break.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Seduction was a cruel game, and she already knew Neyla had loved twisting the knife.

He met her eyes again. “My own fault,” he said finally. “‘If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.’ What I get for letting my ego get in the way.”

“She played a lot of people. Not just you.”

“Ahh, but don’t you see, Inspector?” he returned sardonically. He smiled, a bitter, broken thing that made Carmelita want to punch someone. “I’m supposed to be better.”

She was struck, unbidden, by how _young_ he looked then. Cooper had always been larger than life, firmly wrapped in the mystique of his family legacy and law enforcement’s inability to catch him. But here, sitting cross-legged on top of a bookshelf, the bitterness of his gaze belying how _lost_ he must’ve felt?

 _He’s younger than me_ , she remembered with a start. It was easy to forget, but he’d brought the Fiendish Five to justice at _eighteen_. Carmelita started. _When did you start thinking of vigilantism as justice?_

“There’s the famed Cooper humility,” she said at length, biting off the words, torn between wanting to comfort him and hating the confusion he brought to her psyche.

“I _do_ have a reputation to maintain.” He blinked, eyes surveying her with a sudden intensity. “I was glad to hear you got your job back despite…well, you know.” Cooper shrugged artlessly, smirking.

Brown eyes rolled as she thought of his dive out of Interpol’s chopper. In reality, it was a lucky thing there was surveillance in the cockpit. The footage of Cooper’s gang jerry rigging the controls while they made their escape had exonerated her. “Not like anyone else can catch you, Ringtail.”

His smile was softer now, his eyes warm. “And yet, here we are.”

Cooper’s words, no doubt a comfort to him, shattered the peace Carmelita’s mind had been enjoying, despite the fact she’d caught herself once already. Here she was, sat not ten feet from the object of her biggest case, and she was doing _nothing_ to apprehend him. Odds be damned, she should’ve at least been _trying_!

Perhaps realizing the unintended effect his words had, Sly rose gracefully, the smile gone from his face. “But I’ve overstayed my welcome, it seems.” He turned, no doubt to leap into the darkness the rest of the room provided, but paused. “I never got to apologize for India,” he said, speaking over his shoulder. “I took advantage of you and I’m sorry.”

The vixen said nothing, shocked into silence that the unbidden admission. It spoke to the truth she refused to acknowledge: that Cooper actually cared.

“Be seeing you, Inspector.” Cooper vaulted himself into the scaffolding of the low ceiling and disappeared in shadow a moment later.

Carmelita was left, Neyla’s dossier in hand, staring into the darkness. She glanced down at it, the final evidence of the woman’s existence, and thought of Sly’s tortured words.

 _“…There’s always a reason. There_ has _to be.”_

Whatever it was, she wouldn’t find it here. And maybe she never would, but she would be ok, Carmelita realized. Not today, and likely not tomorrow, but eventually. There was still good police work to be done and not enough people to do it.

She felt her lips quirk upward, thinking of Cooper’s parting words. He’d be ok too.

And it’d make finally catching him all the sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> Quasi sequel to Heartless. Sly 2 remains the best place for any and all Cooper fiction IMO.
> 
> I'll likely use this as a sort of prequel to a longer fic I'm drawing up.


End file.
